


the unfinished collection ✧

by 614



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:29:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/614/pseuds/614
Summary: my very own writing graveyard for your viewing pleasure! also to remind you that i Can write and im at least maybe probably 80% competent





	1. unfinished 01 / untitled

**Author's Note:**

> here i will be posting things that i worked on but didn't quite finish, i may or may not pick on them but i am proud of what i've produced so far so why not post it for people to see... 
> 
> in greater news, i'm actually working on something bigger and i think you'll all like it a lot... it's very inspired and personal, and i'll be posting soon. so stay posted!

 

> tw: alcoholism, depression, suicidal ideation, implied sexual assault

 

Chapter 01 - New Beginnings

 

There was a recurring, painful memory that always struck at Chanyeol’s heartstrings. It was the type of memory that was hindering, that defined every day, every choice, and every breath. It was his own mistake, his own pile of consecutive failures leading up to one final decision. However, it wasn’t even his decision, it was his partner’s. And every moment it crossed his consciousness, he felt a part of himself break even more.

 

. . .

 

_“Chanyeol,” Jongin spoke softly. He curled his fingers against the edge of the couch, gripping it nervously. Regret and sadness were reflected in his eyes, he quickly diverted them and shifted their focus to the front door. It seemed that whatever he was about to share, he truly didn’t want to._

_Chanyeol sat in silence, leaning against the armrest of a brown loveseat. It smelled of beer. He had an intuitive thought about the approaching conversation. He didn’t fear it at this point. He was much past fear. The only feeling (or lack thereof) recognizable to him was numbness. Just numbness. Nothing._

_“Yeah,” he replied. His voice was nonchalant. Almost a bit too nonchalant, he feared. Of course, it’d be expected of him to ignore the gravity of a situation like this. That was the reputation he created for himself, and he regretted it everyday._

_Please just say it, Chanyeol thought. Get it over with._

_“I can’t do this anymore,” Jongin breathlessly choked out. The deliverance of this made Chanyeol think. Maybe his exhaustion was from the anxiety of revealing how he felt, or maybe it was from pent up from all these years of compromise after compromise. Or maybe it was a sigh of relief, maybe he was thankful to be free._

_Chanyeol didn’t move. He sat there, letting the silence swallow all the air in the room, letting it suffocate him. He was anticipating this, he knew it was going to happen. So why did it sting so badly when it was addressed?_

_He turned his head towards the man behind him. Not enough to see him clearly, but enough to catch a glance. “Have you spoken to anyone yet? Have you made any calls?” he asked. Concern was finally being shown. Whether it was intentional or involuntary, it was difficult to tell._

_“I have someone who can come on Wednesday. All I have to do is let her know.”_

_Chanyeol winced. Wednesday. It was already Monday. “Alright,” he agreed, speaking over the heavy pounding he felt from inside. “It’s best that we do this as quickly and smoothly as possible.”_

_Jongin sighed. He couldn’t ignore the shaky tone in the other’s voice. “You don’t have to hide that you’re hurt, Chanyeol… I didn’t want it to end like this either.”_

_Chanyeol rose from his seat, still refusing to look at the man beside him. “If you need me, I’ll be upstairs,” he cleared his throat--it stung with guilt._

 

. . .

 

It wasn’t a secret how deeply Jongin cared for his husband. Year after year, he pushed himself to stay, to persevere. The hope that he clung to so desperately is what kept him grounded. He hoped for a better outcome, he hoped for things to change. He hoped for Chanyeol to change. But it wasn’t enough. The situation began wear Jongin thin. It was only a matter of time before he discovered that no amount of hope could get his husband to crawl out of that bottle and back on his feet.

However, their marriage hadn’t always been this miserable. It began like any other young love story would.  The two met in college, they were eager, jovial, full of life. Chanyeol even more so. He was often praised for his enthusiasm and work ethic. His passion for music was unique, colorful--everyone told him that much.

Jongin was Chanyeol’s most dedicated supporter, always amplifying the kind words that were offered by others. Little things like making sure to leave the longest comments on his covers and cheering the loudest after every performance helped give Chanyeol the confidence he needed to take on the world. And before either of them could realize it or even grasp what their futures held, they fell in love.

College flashed before their eyes. The struggles of their studies paled in comparison to the lives they were bound to lead. Soon after graduation, Chanyeol spared no time in asking Jongin to marry him. They agreed on investing in a nice apartment in the city. It was from that point, where their life together began. It was near perfect.

All was well, until it _wasn’t_.

Chanyeol’s undoing began around the time when he was a fresh face, warmly welcomed into the music industry. He was inspired, young, in love, and _handsome_. His physical features seemed to have grabbed most of the attention, distracting from what he was truly there for. Which was a shame, because even at a young age, he possessed a great deal of talent.

Despite his low rank of an office intern, he would frequently find himself being invited to board meetings he most certainly didn’t deserve to attend. On some occasions, he’d even be asked to join after-work dinners that he politely declined on principle. The principle being: something was definitely going on, and he wasn’t sure if it was in his best interest to blindly follow. The offers at work never ceased, no matter how many times Chanyeol politely declined.

He was confident in his ability to pick up on dangerous situations, and he disliked the fact that he identified something of that nature in his own workplace, the place where he believed he would live out his dreams. It was because of this inconvenience, that he convinced himself to let loose. He decided that maybe he was just nervous, apprehensive even. These were exclusive opportunities being expressed to him by his authority and to him alone, nonetheless. Who was he to pass them up?

All the while, Chanyeol carelessly refused to update his husband on his problems at work. He had the inclination that he was doing well in keeping his doubts a secret, but little did he know that he brought his anxiety and panic home with him. Jongin picked up on it almost immediately, but stayed silent. He believed that whatever was going on would quickly subside or that Chanyeol would fess up whenever he was comfortable.

To both his and Chanyeol’s dismay, neither of those predictions could be spoken, nor even wished into existence. Chanyeol forced himself to accept every invite for the sake of not wanting to overlook an opportunity. It soon came to his attention that one of his superiors began to take special interest him, but in the worst way possible.

It started during the first meeting that he agreed to attend. As it progressed, he sat quietly, letting his higher-ups discuss whatever topic they chose to focus on. He was listening intently and trying his best to keep up and understand, when suddenly he felt someone’s hand start massaging his shoulder. At that moment, he froze. He was unsure about what to do. His mind was racing, he didn’t want to make a scene and potentially get himself fired. He didn’t want to embarrass his superior either, so he stayed silent, just praying that it would eventually cease.

As time passed, it showed that his prayers were not answered. The same man would make it a point to sit next to Chanyeol at every meeting, company dinner, and even run to catch him at the elevator. It got to the point where Chanyeol didn’t want to come to work anymore. Though, of course, he was still negligent to tell Jongin anything about this. Or anyone at all for that matter.

He tried his best to put on a happy face at home, but Jongin saw through it each time. It took some courage, but he managed to pull his husband aside and inquire about what had him so shaken up. Deep inside, Chanyeol wanted to talk. He wanted to tell his husband every last bit of his worries, but he couldn’t. Millions of people would kill to even have a chance to make inside the walls of this company, and he felt selfish for wanting to give that up.

Jongin urged Chanyeol to always remember that he could be trusted, and that he would support him through his every endeavor. He’d even make it a point to do it happily, without a single complaint. While Chanyeol knew this, and as much as he trusted his husband, he didn’t want anyone else involved.

The sum of everything forced Chanyeol into an involuntary spiral. The anxiety within him stemmed from Jongin’s suspicion and the fear of what could happen to him at the hands of his superiors. Rather than coming home straight from work, he’d escape to elsewhere, avoiding Jongin’s nightly list of questions. The first few weeks he would alternate between a bar, diner, or even the park, but unfortunately, the bar eventually grew into a habit.

Mentally, he was worn out. So worn out that by the time his superior decided to make his move, he didn’t have enough strength to prevent it and was forced to do something he didn’t want to. The following day he submitted his resignation form. His habit of drinking ended up becoming more of a dependency. He lost all of his motivation and became a shell of the energetic, inspired, and youthful human he used to be, and in his mind, he believed it was all his own fault. As Chanyeol’s state became progressively worse, Jongin felt as though he was married to a completely different man. And the rest? Is history.

 

. . .

 

Chanyeol laid lazily against the sheets of his unkempt bed, his leftmost limbs dangled loosely off to the side, occasionally grazing the floor. From a distance, he seemed lifeless. But to his own misfortune, he was very much alive. In fact, he was alive enough to hold a phone up to his ear and mumble into it, hoping that whatever left his mouth could pass as a coherent thought.

“What are you going to do when you get evicted? It isn’t like you’ve got a job,” the voice on the other end jokingly chastised. It belonged to Do Kyungsoo, Chanyeol’s oldest and only friend.

“What? No way… Am I not allowed to crash with you?” Chanyeol questioned, the smirk across his face almost audible.

“Oh no, you aren’t,” Kyungsoo snorted. “I love you, Chan. I do. But you’re a mess.”

“As I’ve been told,” Chanyeol sighed, staring up into the ceiling fan that slowly propelled itself above him.

He tossed his phone across the bed and laid there, defeated. He didn’t have anywhere else to go after he inevitably got kicked from his shitty apartment. His own parents didn’t even want him back, not after they found out how much he loved whiskey more than his own husband.

Although he knew from the start that this living situation was going to be temporary, he didn’t bother to prepare until the time came. That left him with the final option of getting a job, just as everybody had been telling him. Chanyeol was aware that a last minute job was better than none at all, but he struggled to see the use. He doubted that anyone would hire him, much less give him a chance for an interview.

Whenever he felt a surge of hope or anything of the sort, it was quickly shut down by his own doubts. It had been like that for him since his assault, and he wasn’t expecting it to change now. He felt alone no matter what. And these thoughts weren’t kind enough to rest, not even for a day. The world was merciless, he knew that, but nothing was worse than his own mind denying him peace.

Through his struggles, it finally hit him that he had a week until eviction and not much money left in his account. The choices that he presented to himself were either to finally get off his ass and force himself into the workforce, or to spend all of his remaining cash on alcohol and take the shortcut to the bottom floor.

Chanyeol spent what felt like a whole afternoon debating the two. Weighing them, trying to figure out which was more worth it. An afternoon of contemplation soon became a week. The deadline creeped its way up before Chanyeol could even blink. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He sat at the edge of his bed, all alone, only accompanied by the rickety fan spinning above him and the bits of conversations he could hear from other tenants. _What’s a life if I have to live like this?_ he asked himself.

 _Barely one at all,_ he concluded.

To say the least, he made a choice.

 

. . .

 

It was a cold, Friday night, but the temperature was no obstacle to the people who were committed to their weekend rituals. There was just something office workers loved about being temporarily freed from corporate hell and celebrating it by drinking until they couldn’t hold it down. They flocked from the nightclub to nightclub, from bar to bar, in attempt to forget the large stack of paperwork that needed to be done. And it worked, every weekend it worked. It was like a trance, and they didn’t even realize it. They didn’t realize how the world shaped how they saw happiness, if they even saw it all. But Chanyeol realized it, and he hated it. He no longer desired to be part of a world like that.

Amidst the usual bar chatter, he made the attempt to speak above it, clearing his throat in attempt to get the bartender’s attention. “I should perform something… For the hell of it. Right?” he asked.

Kim Junmyeon was the bartender’s name. He worked at this particular bar long enough to become familiar with Chanyeol, but all the years he spent there, he never experienced an ounce of small talk from this man. “I don’t see why not,” he replied, unaware of the grim reality behind his question.

“Great,” Chanyeol hummed, excitedly setting his drink down.

 _A couple more days and I can drive my ass into a lake,_ he told himself. Which, in fact, is only what he _told_ himself. Chanyeol did not originally plan to play, nor did he plan to play ever again. Maybe it was a cry for help, or a proper way to send himself off. He didn’t know, he didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that he was going to sing his heart out one last time.

He sat upon the stool they provided for him, positioning the microphone just so. He felt the warmth of the spotlight beaming down against him and the crowd’s sets of eyes focusing in. He was anxious, but the good kind of anxious.  



	2. unfinished 02 / Bornéo 1834

Cardamom, patchouli, labdanum, cacao, camphor. That was Bornéo 1834. That was his target.

;

The exterior of the structure consisted of several separate edifices that stood in a symmetrical pattern, bound together as one. The petite crucifixes that adorned the tips of the vaults pierced the dusk sky, almost ripping the sun away and forcing the darkness upon the city of Vienna.

Chanyeol advanced forward, the soles of his shoes finally making contact with the glossy marble steps that decorated the entrance of the Hall. He was soon surrounded by a variety of gala guests. All wealthy, all full of secrets, all privy to who he and what his mission was.

“K, I’m in,” he muttered, sliding past a group of people, the linen of his suit brushing against the charmeuse and satin of the clothing behind him.

K, or Agent K, was his partner who pulled all the strings from behind a desk at headquarters. “Perfect. What’s the inside look like?” he asked, his voice pouring into Chanyeol’s ear.

“Baroque,” Chanyeol answered succinctly. “Just like the outside.”

  



	3. unfinished 03 / untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what inspired me with this one were those pictures that were released of chanyeol in japan.... it was around dec 2017. he was in all black and wearing those really cute glasses. the visuals of those pics were nice and it made me visualize it and write this.

Baekhyun’s shut his eyes and let his fingers drum rhythmically against the table. His body language read as someone who would rather be somewhere else. Though ironically, he didn’t exactly have anywhere else. This small diner was the one place he enjoyed being, but for the first time, he didn’t even want to be there. He wanted to be nowhere--if that was possible.

He already spent as much time at the office as he possibly could, doing everything he could to avoid going back to his empty apartment. His loneliness was crushing him. He hated how cold it felt, how numbing it became.

“Sir,” a voice called, breaking Baekhyun’s concentration. His fingers froze in motion.

But Baekhyun didn’t flinch. He anticipated it, turning to the waiter standing beside him.

“Your check, sir.”

A single coffee was charged, one of which he didn’t even finish. He let it sit until its heat ran out. He had a habit of doing so. It seemed everything  in his life was lacking in heat. Maybe it was his own fault, just like this was.

He left the restaurant, sounding the bells that rang at every opening of the door. Outside, the snow was falling. It wasn’t snowing when he arrived. He noticed how the pink of the neon sign above him shined on to the white of the snow. He liked it. The idea of a blank canvas being painted on. 

Baekhyun found ways to extend the walk back to his apartment, stopping to read every sign and steal a glimpse of every person. In his pursuit, he breathed in a bit too much of the harsh, winter air. Regretting never investing in a scarf this season. He dealt with the unforgiving weather only a moment longer before he decided,  _ Fuck it _ .

He spared no time in hailing a cab. He shot his hand towards the handle in haste, but in his astonishment, he felt something warm, soft. It was a hand. He looked up to see who it belonged to.

It was a taller man with a long black coat. He had a hat covering most of his face.

“My cab,” Baekhyun asserted.

The tall man looked Baekhyun up and down and laughed. He pulled his scarf down to speak, “Hell yeah, it’s your cab. Aren’t you freezing? Jesus, get in there.” He opened up the door for him.

Dumbfounded, Baekhyun entered the cab at the man’s polite gesture. He was even more surprised when he saw the tall stranger following him inside.

“What the hell are you doing?” Baekhyun asked in astonishment.

“We’re sharing a cab,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m Chanyeol by the way.” He then sat up to give directions to the driver.

Baekhyun sighed, he let it happen. Maybe it was meant to.

“And you are?” Chanyeol asked, as he plopped back down in the back seat.

“In about five minutes, we’re literally not going to see each other ever again,” Baekhyun chided. “Why would you want t--”

“If we’re never going to see each other again, what’s the harm in telling me your name?”

  
  



	4. unfinished 04 / vibe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not chanbaek, but whatever

_ vibe _ // chankai

fluff, dj chanyeol, stripper jongin

prompt: chanyeol is a popular dj at a strip club, they need a new dancer because their lead quit. boa is a strict boss and she’s hard on her dancers, baekhyun gets fed up and quits. (he was the lead) and now they need a new guy. when chanyeol takes a break from the turntables they mingle a bit and dances with people, goes up to the private rooms (they’re a popular dj so he makes sure to make his rounds) they see someone mysterious dancing alone. it’s jongin. he originally doesn’t want the job, he’s difficult, but chanyeol gets him to change his mind.

\---

 

The radiant blues, greens, and reds of the strobe lights flashed, painting the nightclub with mood-setting hues. They flickered in tune to the hi-hat beats spluttering from the speakers up above. But visuals weren’t the only existing shades, synths chimed in, painting distinct colors that captivated the wild crowd.

This particular club always had a unique air about it, and it wasn’t just the expressive dancers that often graced the stage. It was that somehow the people inside it always felt the music, like  _ really _ felt it deep inside. Critics would comment on how the atmosphere was “universal” and “inclusive”. The crowd was dripping with energy that so easily convinced you that these people were one body rather than several. They seemed to just  _ vibe  _ together... That’s how the joint coined its name.

However, Vibe wouldn’t be Vibe without the architect behind the rhythms. They were tall, a little over 6 ft, and had rosy, light pink hair with lavender tones fused in. It was borderline unkempt, but in that sexy way where people found it appealing. They went by “DJ Mony” behind the table, and Park Chanyeol everywhere else. 

Chanyeol was well known in the Seoul clubbing scene. Anyone and everyone knew their name. Their ability to tame a pack of people and set them on a similar wavelength was something everyone strived to experience. Their presence is what made Vibe the most sought-after club in the whole city, and they were thanked for that every week with a large paycheck.

 


End file.
